


just burn my name

by embarrassment



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Knifeplay, Public Sex, Rough Sex, clothing used as a gag, general warnings for miklan, impersonal but consensual, sex in a dirty nightclub bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embarrassment/pseuds/embarrassment
Summary: Glenn is tired of always being sogood. He needs a little taste of something bad.
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius/Miklan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	just burn my name

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags before reading.
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=1340892#cmt1340892).

He goes because he knows Miklan will be there. 

He shouldn’t. Word of Miklan’s disinheritance reached the Fraldarius household long before it hit newsstands. He’s well-aware that Miklan can no longer call himself a Gautier, that his crimes have been swept under the rug with a promise that he’ll travel far away from his family home. He knows that Miklan is dangerous, and truthfully, he doesn’t even like him. 

But Glenn goes anyway. 

Maybe it’s because he’s tired — weary of being the eldest, forced to attend stuffy meetings and kowtow to a prince years younger than him. Maybe it’s because he's so fed up with always being so _good_ that he needs a little taste of something bad. Or maybe it’s because he’s sick of everyone always singing his praises. 

Maybe he needs someone to tell him all the things that are wrong with him so he can feel less suffocated under the weight of his achievements. 

Regardless of his reasoning, Glenn takes a cab to the nightclub that Miklan and his buddies are said to haunt. It’s on the outskirts of the capital and Glenn is too well-known to get away with anonymity, so he wears a sweatshirt, ties his hair back, pulls up his hood, and pockets his fake ID in hopes of creating enough deniability. 

When he arrives, the club is already bustling with loud music and crowds of people. Glenn isn’t deterred — he knows he will be able to spot Miklan’s shaggy red hair towering over most other people. 

What he doesn’t expect is Miklan finding him first — grabbing him by the hood and jerking him backward. “Well, well, if it isn’t the pride and joy of Fraldarius!” Miklan yells over the music. He keeps a grip on Glenn’s hood and yanks him again, hard enough that Glenn stumbles backward into him. “Come to spy on me?” he yells into Glenn’s ear. 

Glenn lurches himself out of Miklan’s grip and spins around to glare. “I’m here to have a little fun, same as you!” he yells. 

Miklan laughs, but Glenn can’t hear it over the music. Which is probably a good thing, because he knows it will sound cruel and mocking. Miklan reaches for him again, but Glenn shoves his hand away and takes a step back. 

Another inaudible laugh, then Miklan gestures toward the back of the club and walks off in that direction. Glenn clenches and unclenches his hands because he’s already annoyed, which bothers him, even though this is exactly what he wanted. He then follows, weaving through the crowd until he meets Miklan in a quieter corner of the club. 

“What do you want, Fraldarius?” Miklan asks.

“Nothing,” Glenn replies. 

It’s a lie. He knows exactly what he wants — the same thing he wants every time he finds Miklan. A break from knowing that he has to wake up early to tutor Dimitri, that he’s expected for a lunch at the country club at noon, that Felix spent the day complaining about something stupid again. Glenn wants to be free for a little while. 

Miklan grins. The smiles spreads across his face slowly, tauntingly, because he knows exactly what Glenn wants. 

“How much money you got on you?” Miklan asks him. 

Glenn digs in his pockets. He pulls out a handful of coins. It’s enough to get him home and nothing more. He may be a rich kid, but he doesn’t have access to all of his family’s money yet. His father keeps him on a strict allowance; he doesn't even have a credit card in his name.

“Cheapskate,” Miklan mutters, but grabs it all from Glenn’s hand. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Glenn says, but doesn’t try to take the money back. He can figure out his ride situation later. Miklan has nothing. 

“Go to the bathroom, I’ll be there in five.”

Glenn grits his teeth. He wants to argue, to say he’s not here for Miklan and won’t take his orders. But that isn't true, so in the end he says nothing and goes to the bathroom as he’s told.

He waits for nearly fifteen minutes. People come and go, stepping around him while he stands beside a sink and messages a few people to see if anyone can give him a ride home later tonight. More than once, he considers asking Sylvain, who will definitely come get him if only for the excuse to use his newly earned license, but decides against it, because he would know why he’s out here, at this specific club. 

Finally, Miklan enters the bathroom and wrinkles his nose. “What a shithole.” Then he grins. “Perfect for you, isn’t it?” 

“I’m not the one with nowhere else to go,” Glenn snaps. It’s a cruel remark, but that’s how it always goes between them: all sharp edges shoved against each other until one of them bleeds. 

Miklan laughs, as he always does, then places his hand against Glenn’s chest and shoves him into the sink. Glenn’s back hits the rim painfully, but he’s careful not to show that it hurts. 

He’s also careful not to show how this back-and-forth makes his body respond with a tug of interest — his cock stirring within his jeans. 

“On your knees, Fraldarius.” 

“Make me.” 

Miklan makes him — grabs him by his ponytail and yanks him down to the disgusting floor. Glenn struggles out of his grip, turns around and tries to pull Miklan down instead — fists his shirt and jerks as hard as he can. But Miklan grabs him by his neck and overpowers him, shoving his face into the dirty floor. 

“You’re in over your head, kid,” Miklan tells him, which infuriates Glenn, because he’s eighteen and Miklan is only a couple years older than him. Miklan moves his hand from Glenn's neck to his back, keeping him face down while he positions himself behind him.

“Screw you,” Glenn says to the floor and tries not to think about what he must be lying in. 

Someone enters the bathroom and stops as soon as he sees them. “What the fuck?”

“Mind your own business,” Miklan warns. 

“Do you need help, kid?” the man asks. 

“Fuck you,” Glenn hisses and feels a thrill — at being held fast by Miklan, at being made to lie prone in a public place, at swearing at a well-meaning bystander. Fuck the stranger, fuck Miklan, and fuck the world they were born into. 

But most of all: “Fuck me.” He presses his ass back against Miklan. 

The man mutters a few choice words of his own, telling them to get a fucking room, and walks over to the urinal. Glenn has to listen to him piss while Miklan roughly forces his jeans open and down around his knees. 

“Didn’t your daddy teach you patience?” Miklan asks tauntingly. Instead of pulling down Glenn’s briefs, he presses something cold and metallic against his skin. 

A knife. 

Glenn’s breath catches in his throat as the metal drags across his skin, threatening to slice him open, cutting through the fabric of his briefs until they fall off of him in shreds. He cranes his head in an effort to look behind him. Instead of forcing his head back down, Miklan grabs the shredded underwear and shoves them into Glenn's mouth. 

“We’re in public,” he states. “Can’t have you making any noise. 

The stranger chooses that moment to finish pissing. This time he makes no comment as he leaves, but he does stare pointedly at Glenn, in a way that makes him feel like he’s being judged for doing something stupid.

Glenn moves to take the briefs out of his mouth because fuck that, but Miklan drops his knife to the floor and grabs both his arms. He maneuvers his grip so that he’s holding both of Glenn’s wrists in one hand. Shamefully, Glenn’s inability to fight his way out of his situation makes him grow hard, his body beginning to yearn in earnest. 

“Asshole,” Glenn tries to say around the fabric in his mouth, but the word comes out muffled and nonsensical. He attempts to spit it out, but as soon as Miklan sees what he’s doing, he reaches with his free hand and shoves the underwear deeper into his mouth, nearly causing him to gag. 

Glenn doesn’t struggle further, which allows Miklan to shove his way free of his own pants and underwear. Glenn doesn’t try to look back again — his neck is tired from the effort, so he rests his forehead on the floor — but he can feel Miklan shifting, the grip on his wrists moving his arms back and forth as Miklan finishes freeing himself of his clothes and then opens a bottle of something. 

Lube, Glenn guesses.

Even with the music blaring outside of the bathroom, he can hear Miklan playing with himself, urging his cock into full firmness. He can feel it, too, a rhythm in a way that Miklan’s body moves behind his, the way his grip slackens a little while he works. Glenn himself is hard and wanting — the anticipation making him want to bark at Miklan to hurry up. 

But he can’t. Because he has his underwear in his mouth. So he groans instead. 

And Miklan laughs, of course. 

“Always so eager for me. Wonder what your daddy would say if he could see you now. Should I take a picture and send it to him?” 

Glenn stills and shuts up, body tensing at the threat. That’s too much, too far; dread pools in his stomach and he waits for the flash of light, the click of a shutter.

But instead of either of those things, his wrists are released. He props himself up with his aching arms, but doesn’t fight anymore — remains on his knees for Miklan, gagged by his own underwear. 

Miklan spreads his asscheeks wide and presses his cock up against his hole. “No prep today, Fraldarius. It’s time you learn how the real world is gonna fuck you when you're down.” 

He presses inside. Glenn’s hands curl against the floor, nails digging up grime as a burning pain spreads throughout his body. He grunts and groans, but the muffled vocalizations don’t alleviate the uncomfortable pressure, the way his body protests against Miklan. 

Miklan doesn’t give him time to adjust. As soon as he’s bottomed out, he grabs Glenn by the hips and pumps into him, hard and unrelenting, without any concern for Glenn’s comfort. 

Glenn wills his body to relax — forces himself to to accept Miklan despite his knee-jerk reaction to shove him away. It takes several long, painful moments, but the the thrusting becomes less painful and eventually edges toward pleasure. 

Meanwhile, Miklan fucks him hard — thrusts in and out, pulling himself as far back as he can without pulling out entirely, then pressing in again, with enough force that tears gather in Glenn’s eyes. But each thrust becomes increasingly wanted, until Glenn is panting around the fabric of his underwear, pushing back on Miklan as Miklan rams into him. 

Miklan yanks his head back by his ponytail, then quickly releases his hair to grab his exposed throat — doesn’t choke him, but the threat is enough to seize Glenn’s body with a mix of fear and mounting desperation. Glenn whines around the underwear in his mouth as Miklan fucks him with so much force, the slapping of their bodies overpowers the drone of music from beyond the bathroom. 

The door opens, then closes again. Someone definitely saw and probably heard Glenn bucking and whining beneath Miklan. It should be embarrassing, but all Glenn cares about is coming like this, with Miklan’s hand over his throat and his cock pumping into him. 

Miklan hits that spot within him that causes his mind to blank. Glenn loses control over the sounds that force their way out around the makeshift gag and begs mindlessly for Miklan to keep going. 

But Miklan doesn’t. He pulls out of Glenn without warning and finishes himself off with a few quick strokes of his cock. Glenn droops forward as Miklan gasps his way through his orgasm, still poised behind him. He feels the warmth of Miklan's cum drip down his ass — he knows that his sweatshirt will be covered in it. 

“Finish yourself,” Miklan tells him, standing and pulling up his pants. 

While Glenn shakily raises himself off of his unsteady, aching knees, Miklan leaves him there. 

Keeping the underwear in his mouth, Glenn sits on the filthy floor and runs his hand over his cock, thinking about how discarded he feels — as though he’s nothing, no one of consequence, just a fuck and nothing more. He only manages to hold that thought in his head briefly — then his strokes become desperate, uncoordinated, and he comes all over the disgusting bathroom floor. 

Only when he’s finished does he reach with a shaking hand to finally pull the underwear out of his mouth. 

He does his best to clean up — grabs paper towels and wipes himself free of his own cum, then wets a new stack and attempts to wipe the stain from his sweatshirt. He throws his underwear away and pulls his jeans up. 

Then he looks at himself in the mirror. 

His hair is a mess, most of it pulled free of his ponytail, damp with sweat, and tangled. His sweatshirt is still stained and now has bits of paper towel all over it. His face is red and there are tear tracks on his cheeks — tears he didn’t even realize he shed. 

He splashes water over his face and does his best to fix his hair. 

Then he leaves the nightclub feeling simultaneously shamed and satisfied. 

He walks several blocks away, then opens his phone. 

This time he doesn’t hesitate. 

He calls Sylvain.


End file.
